Stark Versions
by Veldeia
Summary: Tony Stark meets three other versions of himself, but is it just a dream, or could it actually be real - and can they get out? Now finished, with a special quest appearance from Pepper Potts in the last chapter.
1. What?

Author's Note: And now, for something completely different... I've done two stories of Iron Man movieverse hurt/comfort, it's about time I did something else. So, I had this completely ridiculous idea, but it turned into a more-or-less serious story. It's a crossover of Iron Man and... Iron Man! Movie-Tony meets some of his comic book counterparts. Told from movieverse-Tony's point of view, so no knowledge of the comics required (though it may make this more fun to read).

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

As I solder the wires to their places within the experimental gauntlet, there's a small voice at the back of my head which keeps repeating words that I said myself, not long ago. Words spoken to a conference room full of reporters seated on the floor, with half my mind still stuck in a desolate cave in Afghanistan, unable to believe I'm really back home, one hand in a sling. The voice is telling them that Stark Industries will no longer have anything to do with weapons technology. No sir, we're going to be all peace and love from now on. Oh yes, we are.

And here I am, in my workshop, crouched over a piece of technology that can only be used as a weapon and nothing else. Never mind that I first meant the suit's palm repulsors to be flight stabilizers, this version I'm working on has next to nothing to do with flying and everything to do with beating the bad guys. I guess designing something like this is a natural, primitive reaction to getting your ass kicked by someone using a rip-off of your armor that's bigger and meaner than yours. I've got to build a bigger stick, because my enemy had one that was bigger than mine and I almost lost.

All set. It's time for testing. I pick up the gauntlet from the table, worm my hand into it, connect it to my arc reactor and head to the other side of the room, where I've carefully set up a square of floor so that it's clear and well-protected, with solid concrete walls on three sides.

"Test number one. Roll camera," I say out loud, ordering my no-good robot helpers to do at least something. "Three, two, one..." I extend my hand in front of me and fire.

Something goes very, very badly wrong.

There's a blinding flash of light, as if the bolt's reflected from the three walls, but that's impossible, since the material of the walls isn't reflective at all. I pull the gauntlet off my hand, breaking its connection from the arc reactor and dropping it to the floor, but it's too late. The light's so bright that it hurts my eyes and even deeper than that, like it's boring right through my skull. It spreads through me, a tingling feeling, like an electric shock.

I think I'm on my knees. I'm not sure. I can't feel my feet anymore. I'm losing consciousness.

Whiteout.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Someone's shaking me roughly and shouting, "Hey, you! Wake up!" The voice is extremely familiar, in a strange way. I can't figure out whose voice it is. I open my eyes and instantly know why. The face above mine is - mine.

I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. That made no sense. I must've hit my head. Maybe it'll go away if I wait a little.

I open my eyes again and look up. It's still there, and unmistakable, even though the lights are pretty dim. My face, but not quite. The beard isn't the exact same cut - and the eyes are blue.

"Okay. What just happened, and who the hell are you?" I demand.

"I could ask you the same thing," the not-quite-me replies in my voice. "And those two as well," he tilts his head in a backwards nod.

I sit up and get my first look at the surroundings. I'm no longer in my shop. Definitely not in Kansas anymore. We're on a circular platform, surrounded by lots and lots of technology, none of which I can name, especially since it's looming at the edge of the illuminated area. The source of the light is a small device set in the middle of the platform. On the platform opposite to me and not-quite-me, lying on the floor, apparently unconscious, are... two more of me!

This is so absurd that I laugh out loud, though it comes through sounding slightly hysterical, since I feel freaked out at the same time. This can't be real - but it feels awfully real, the residual headache from the weird whiteout, the cold metallic floor beneath me, the stale air that has a faint smell of ozone.

"Maybe one of them can explain this," not-quite-me suggests, so we move on to rouse the other two. But no, they both wake up just as freaked out and puzzled as we are.

They've both got blue eyes too, and one of them doesn't have a goatee or a beard of any kind, just a thin mustache, which someone might consider aristocratic, though I think it just looks silly. They're both wearing coveralls, as if they've just been working on something, same as me. I'm not wearing coveralls, though, just sweatpants and a white T-shirt. The not-quite-me who woke me up is different: he's got black trousers, a light blue shirt and a tie. Somewhat dismayed, I realize that the three others are all clearly taller than me. We all look about the same age.

We stare at each other - at ourselves - in a stunned silence that feels very heavy and thick, as if the very air in the room has turned solid.

"You're all Tony Stark, right?" the me in coveralls who has a goatee finally breaks the silence. "Anthony Edward Stark, son of Howard and Maria Stark? Also known as Iron Man? Same as me?"

Three Tony Starks nod in answer.

"I've got to be dreaming," he shakes his head.

"...or hallucinating," the dressy me suggests.

"...or caught in an illusion created by some devious supervillain," the me in coveralls with the silly mustache offers. "Unless you're all LMDs, clones or other artificial beings that look like me."

"I think I hit my head pretty hard," I add.

"But this feels too tangible for a dream, and I'm definitely not a fake," black-tie me speaks my thoughts out loud. "We could just assume this really is real. It's not impossible, after all. It could mean that we come from..."

"...alternate universes," all four of us pronounce in unison. The many-worlds interpretation. Parallel universes. It's not just science-fiction, it's physics, and apparently the other Tony Starks know their physics too.

Damn. This could actually be real.


	2. Who?

We stand in a circle around the tiny but very bright lamp on the floor - dressy-me tells it's a super-LED he designed and brought with him.

"So, how did you end up here?" mustache-and-coveralls-me asks. "You see, I was just testing my new subatomic neutralizer ray, when something went wrong, and the next thing I know, I woke up here," he explains.

"Well, I was testing a quasi-neutrino-shifting beam, but otherwise the same story," goatee-and-coveralls-me says.

"Transphase-quantum repulsor, but yeah," I tell them.

"And I was supervising a test run of my phantom particle device, and had to run into the chamber to try and fix things when it went haywire," black-tie-me finishes.

"Perhaps we were all really testing the same device, only with slight differences and different names, and this is some strange dimension-folding side-effect," mustache-me suggests. It sounds pretty plausible.

"It doesn't have to have anything to do with what we did, though. Maybe this was all caused by someone or something else entirely," goatee-and-coveralls-me says. "Someone who wants us here."

"Or then one of us is lying and brought the others here," shirt-and-tie-me remarks suspiciously.

The room around us is completely dark and silent, not even the slightest hum of air-conditioning or the barely audible electric buzz of a lamp. So far, there's been no sign of anyone else but us. If we have been pulled here by some mad supervillain, I'd have expected them to make an appearance already. But one of us? The others look just like me, sound just like me, and I instinctively feel like trusting them just because they're me, but I don't really know them. It could be one of us.

We stare at each other some more in the perfect silence. A Mexican standoff with no guns. I can guess none of us are usually this silent. As we stare, gazes meeting occasionally, smiles start to play on our lips at the absurdity of the situation.

I'm trying very hard to come up with something to say, but goatee-and-coveralls-me beats me to it. "Yours is cooler than mine," he tells me in a conversational tone, pointing at me. At my chestpiece, more exactly, its glow pronounced in the dim light.

"You've got one too?" I ask, curious.

He tugs at the zipper in front of his coveralls, opening it so we can see his chest. He's got a metallic device of some sort set in the middle of it, same as me, but it's not glowing.

"That's no arc reactor," I note.

"What's an arc reactor?"

"This is," I point at mine. "A miniaturized one. It powers the electromagnet which keeps my heart safe from the shrapnel that sank into my chest when I was captured in Afghanistan. It's also the power source of my Iron Man suit."

"I got shrapnel in the chest in Vietnam!" mustache-me exclaims.

"Afghanistan," dressy-me says.

"Vietnam," goatee-coveralls-me insists.

"Afghanistan," say I.

"Vietnam!" says mustache-me.

"Hey, let's not be childish. Both can be true. It was Afghanistan, though," I claim the last word. "Anyway, what's up with yours, then?" I point at the me who also has a metallic thing in his chest.

"Nothing like yours," he answers. "I had my share of shrapnel-related heart trouble, but those days are gone now. This is an artificial heart, a very advanced one, though it definitely doesn't power my suit. It's more like the other way around. I need to recharge it every now and then or I'm gone just like that," he snaps his fingers.

"If you ask me, you're both lucky," mustache-me says, and zips open his coveralls too, revealing that he's actually wearing a red-and-gold thing that looks very much like the whole chest plate of my Iron Man suit.

I'm only beginning to consider how cumbersome and impractical that has to be, when I notice a detail in it that just cracks me up completely. "Your suit's got nipples!" I snicker, pointing at him.

"Hey, I've used that design too," artificial-heart-me says defensively.

"There's nothing funny about my armor!" chestplate-me looks hurt. "It's easy for you to laugh when you're not stuck wearing the thing twenty four seven. It's basically the same as your arc reactor," he nods at me. "Keeps my heart going despite the shrapnel and is central to my suit. But I need to recharge too, same as you," he nods at artificial-heart-me.

"So, how about you?" I turn towards black-tie-me, who has been following the conversation without a single word. The look on his face is subdued, maybe even a bit apologetic.

"Yeah, we've all showed ours, now let's see yours," artificial-heart-me teases.

"Well, really, boys, it's nothing you haven't seen before," dressy-me says, takes off his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

There's nothing on his chest. Just the gorgeous muscles we're all so familiar with and proud of, and perfect, unblemished skin all over.

"Oh, give us a break! Someone has all the luck," chestplate-me exclaims.

"Whaat! Oh, come on!" artificial-heart-me cries out.

"Hey, you said you were injured in Afghanistan, too!" I shout at without-chest-device-me.

"Yes, and I was," he answers. "Past tense. I'm fine now. There's this thing called 'modern medicine', you might want to look into it."

"But you haven't even got any scars," I grumble.

"Yeah, well, there's also this really neat thing called Extremis, which saved my life and gave me a healing factor, among other things." Now that he's got started, he no longer looks ashamed of his good fortune. "So, I guess you guys also can't do this?" he asks, and spreads his hands in a very familiar-looking showy gesture.

Appearing as if from nowhere, a golden second skin gradually spreads out to cover all the bare skin we can see, and all of his head, like a helmet, leaving just his face clear. It's obvious enough what it is: a part of an Iron Man armor way more advanced than the one I've made.

We other three Tony Starks just stare.

He lowers his hands and the golden skin disappears as fast as it emerged.

"Hot damn! How did you do that?" artificial-heart-me utters my exact thoughts out loud.

"Ohkay, if someone here's the bad guy, it's got to be you," I point at gold-skin-me.

"Hey, just because I've got cooler toys than you..." he winks.

"I'll just call you 'Evil Twin' anyway," I tell him.

"I've already got a name, and I'd think you'd remember it, seeing as it's your name too."

"But we can't all call each other Tony Stark," artificial-heart-me remarks. He's right, of course.

"Ok, so, Mr. Chestplate is obviously Mark I," I suggest.

Mark I crosses his arms, looking even more hurt than before - I know that pout well enough, and I know how girls love it, but it won't do any good against the three of us. "Just because you don't like the design..." he grumbles. "No way, I won't accept it. I'm fine being just Tony. 'Tony Number One' would work, too."

"Nah, Mr. Arc Reactor Stark is right, you've got to admit you're clearly less advanced than the rest of us," artificial-heart-me says. "I'm calling you Mark I no matter what you say, even if that makes me Mark II."

"You wouldn't be so quick to accept this if you'd be Mark I," Mark I complains.

"Hey, it's just for practical purposes. We all love you just like we love ourselves," I assure him. "Anyway, even though Evil Twin here has better skin than the rest of us, I'm the only one who's got an inbuilt generator with enough power to light up a few cities. I should be Mark IV."

Both Mark I and II laugh out loud at me, shaking their heads.

"I think it's clear enough who's the most advanced model around here," Evil Twin declares nonchalantly.

I guess I've got to give it to him. He really is a version of me who's even more high-tech than I am. So, I'm Mark III, then. I'll just have to live with that. It's not so bad. At least I beat Marks I and II.


	3. Why?

A/N: This story is driving me nuts: I can't decide what the genre is. I thought it'd end up being completely silly so I put it in the "Humor" category, but it's getting darker as it advances, so I'm not sure if it fits. Ah well. I might change it to something else soon. I'd be interested to hear what you think, whether writing this story makes any sense at all and so on. :P

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"All right, now that we've had this little heart-to-heart and given nicknames to each other, how about we quit navel-gazing and try to find out what this place is and why we're here?" Mark I suggests, still sounding sour.

"Good idea, beta version," Mark II replies cheerfully. "It doesn't look like we're going to wake up if we just sit here and wait."

Mark IV and me agree as well. We decide to split up in pairs, I get to go with Mark I. Marks II and IV take Mark IV's super-LED-light, and Mark I lights up the chest beam of his chestplate, so it's like we've got a spotlight with us.

The four of me walk down the few metal steps leading from the platform to the concrete floor of the room. Marks I and IV point their lights around. The room is rectangular and smaller than I expected, with featureless concrete walls, the concrete ceiling quite low. It looks like the inside of a bunker, or a blast shelter. Marks II and IV head to the right, me and Mark I to the left.

The silence is still total except for our footsteps and the soft echoes of our breathing. It's so silent I think I can actually hear the hum of my arc reactor. The beam of light from Mark I's chestplate looks narrow and feeble, like a solitary ray of sun in an eternal darkness. The light reveals the massive amounts of machinery around the central platform, surrounding it like a huge tent made of electronics, and there's some more technology lining the walls.

This feels exactly like one of those flashlight scenes from the X-Files. "Too bad you're not Scully," I whisper to Mark I.

"Who?"

"Agent Scully? The pretty redhead from the X-Files?"

"What's that, an adult film?"

I shake my head. So much for pop culture references. "A scifi-show. Different universes, I guess. Or then you really should watch more TV."

As we walk on, I slowly begin to grasp the situation we're in. The four of me, in this strange, unknown place, each of us equally unprepared for it. None of us has our armor, except for Mark IV's golden skin and Mark I's chestplate. We've brought no food or water, and judging from the way this place looks like, I doubt we'll find any here. By the looks of it, there isn't even any electricity here, but I'm sure that's one problem that's no problem at all for four Tony Starks.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I only notice Mark I has stopped walking when I suddenly find myself in the dark. I turn around. The narrow beam of light is pointing at the floor, since Mark I is hunched forwards, his arms crossed tightly over his chest like he's trying to keep himself from falling apart.

"You all right?" I ask him, though his posture is pretty easy to interpret, so I already know the answer.

"Not too good," he says.

"Your chestplate...?"

"The transition to this place must have depleted my energy reserves," Mark I gasps, looking worse by the minute. It's extremely strange watching my own face contort with pain like that - definitely not an enjoyable sight. "I need to recharge, but how can I, in this dark dead place?" he shakes his head. "Will I face my end like this, without ever even learning where we are and why we are here?"

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," I object, and place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You'll be just fine. You're standing right next to a power source, remember? We just need to figure out how to make the connection."

"I have a wire... The light will go out, though," he moves one hand over to the central disk of his chestplate, his fingers partially obscuring the light.

"Wait, wait," I stop him from turning it off. "What's the plug like? I don't know if it'll work just like that, it might take some tinkering..."

"It's almost universal. I have no time. It has to work, it just has to!"

"All right," I say, and Mark I turns off the light, so we're left in darkness that's complete except for the gleam of my arc reactor. There's no sign of Mark II and IV's super-LED, so they must've left the room. I take the power cord that Mark I has produced from behind his chest beam and squint at it in the dim blue glow. It looks like it should work. I plug it in, and it fits like a glove - and of course it does, since I've designed both. Sort of.

Just a few minutes later Mark I straightens up, the look of anguish fading from his face. "Well, that's better. Thank you."

"That's it? Already fully charged? That's pretty fast."

"I've designed it that way. Couldn't let my enemies escape while I sit in a corner charging my batteries."

"True. Then again, there are even better options," I note, as I pull the cord out of my chestpiece and hand it back to him.

"Right. But what's the use of having all that power, Mark III, if you can't even turn on the lights?" he says, and flips his chest beam spotlight on again. "By the way, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell the others about this little... incident."

"I won't," I promise, and it's a promise I intend to keep. I can understand how Mark I doesn't want to look so much weaker compared to everyone else. "How long can you function with that one quick recharge?"

"Unless there's some unexpected energy drain, I'll be fine for days."

"That's good. I've no intention of staying here for days."

"Me neither."

We move on, and stop again, when we come across a stack of crates. The streamlined logo printed on their sides reads "Stark Corporation".

"Yours?" I ask Mark I.

"No, mine's Stark Industries."

"Same here." Funny how despite our big differences we've got such exact similarities.

We crack open a few of the crates, and find no food or water, just more tech stuff: regular components that I can recognize, though Mark I doesn't know them all, some more exotic things, and weird über-high-tech stuff that even I have never seen.

Now that I think about it, there's something funny about the way how Mark I fails to recognize stuff that I really would expect him to, if he's me. It gets really pronounced, when we find a stretch of floor that someone's used as their campsite, at the other side of the crates. There's a bunch of blankets on the floor, some chocolate bar wrappers, and a laptop - the model isn't familiar to me, but it looks like a Dell. I pick it up right away and open it. Not surprisingly, the battery's dead.

"What's that?" Mark I asks. At first, I wonder if he's trying to be funny, but I know that tone of my voice and it's frank.

"A laptop. Don't tell me you don't have these where you come from."

"A 'laptop'?" he repeats, still at a loss.

"A notebook? Mobile computer?"

"A computer that small? That's amazing!"

"Uh, not really, this isn't that small. There are much smaller ones than this," I tell him, frowning. There's something funny going on here. "Say, Mark I, what year is it where you come from?"

"1969."

"Oh. Wow," I utter. That explains why he doesn't know about laptops, they hadn't got those back then. It makes no sense whatsoever, though. How can we look the same age, if we've got an age difference of 39 years? Even if we've traveled in time when we got pulled into this place, it still doesn't make any sense. Mark I must've been born decades before me, if he looks my age but lives in the sixties.

Alternate universes, I repeat to myself. It's the only explanation we've got. We come from universes where timelines are profoundly different and Tony Stark was this age in the late sixties.

"'Oh, wow' what?" Mark I asks, and I realize I've been staring at him without any explanation.

"Where I'm from, it's 2008."

He stares at me, and I can practically see how his mind goes through the same steps mine just took. "Alternate universes," he says.

"Far out, dude," I answer. "So, this laptop is out of power, but it might hold some data we could use. It shouldn't be too hard to connect it to my arc reactor, we've got plenty of useful stuff available," I motion towards the crates.

Mark I ignores me and points at the floor. "Look, someone's left a note." There's a sheet of paper there that was probably partially under the laptop. I naturally didn't pay any attention to a piece of paper when I had a piece of hardware at my hands.

Mark I picks it up, his brow furrowing as he reads it. Wordlessly, he hands it over to me. I instantly recognize the handwriting as mine.

_No food left. Ran out of power. I'm heading out to look for survivors, though I doubt there'll be any. I don't expect to return._

__

I am to blame for what happened. All the data is in here. If anyone reads this, I can only hope you'll use it wisely and won't repeat my mistakes.

If there's a Hell, it's too kind a punishment for what I did.

_Tony Stark_

I look up at Mark I, a chill running down my spine. "What have we done?"

"No, I think the correct question is, what has Mark V done?" he says.


	4. Where?

I've just managed to put together a set of wires and components that should allow me to recharge the laptop using my arc reactor, when a bright spot of light appears at the far end of the room. It's Mark IV's super-LED, carried by Mark II, who runs to our side.

"Guys, you need to see this," he announces.

"We're sort of in the middle of something important here," I tell him. "And we've got some pretty scary news as well."

"I doubt it can be as scary as this. Come on," he beckons, so Mark I and I leave the laptop and the makeshift power adapter waiting on the floor and follow him. He leads us to a set of doors in the concrete wall - two thick blast doors and an elevator to the right of them. The blast door in the middle is wide open.

"The door to the left is completely stuck, and it might not lead anywhere even if we'd manage to open it. The elevator's out of order, of course," Mark II explains, and without wasting more time, enters the doorway that's open. It's actually the beginning of a narrow corridor that slopes gently upwards. The walls are bare. On the ceiling, I can spot emergency lights that aren't on.

After what feels like at least ten minutes of walking, Mark II tells Mark I to turn off the light. As Mark I does that, Mark II does the same. Without the artificial lights, we can see natural-looking white light at the far end of the tunnel. I don't know what's waiting for us out there, but the way Mark II is acting about it makes me uneasy. If he thinks it's scary, there's a good chance I'll think so too.

At the end of the tunnel, there's a blast door that's even more massive than the ones we've already passed. It's open, but only a crack just wide enough for one person to pass through at a time.

"We found it open like this," Mark II notes.

"That's probably because Mark V went this way," I tell him.

"Mark V?" he asks, surprised, but I don't answer him, because by this time, we've stepped out, and all I can do is stare at the view in front of us.

The first impression I get is that we're surrounded by snow and ice, that we're in Antarctica or the Arctic. Everything's white. But the ground is almost level, wavy with some low dune-like formations, and it's not freezing cold, just slightly chilly, maybe around 50 degrees F. The sky is completely white as well, not with bright light, but a bleak, grayish white, like on a day so cloudy that the sun's not visible at all.

Mark I has crouched to the ground and is running his fingers through what I took for snow. I look more closely, and see that it's actually fine white sand. The dunes I can see are real sand dunes. And there's nothing else here as far as the eye can see: white sand and white sky. The entrance to the tunnel behind us is just another white dune, but with a dark doorway in it. It's a landscape so unnaturally lifeless and featureless that it's right out of a nightmare. A stark landscape. Ha ha, very funny. Not.

"This world is empty," someone to my right says in my voice. The tone is as desolate as the view in front of us. I turn to look which one of us is speaking. It's Mark IV, whose blue eyes are turned towards the cloud-covered sky.

"Uh, are you trying to tell you can somehow detect all the people on the planet?" I ask him. "Because if you are, I don't believe you."

"Not exactly," Mark IV answers. "I wouldn't know about people, but I do know that there's nothing electronic that I can reach anywhere on this world, and that's not a promising sign. No satellites, no cell phones, no computers, nothing at all."

"You can remotely connect to satellites just like that? You expect us to believe that?" I'm still very suspicious.

"Extremis abilities. Believe what you will, but this world is empty," he repeats. What he claims sounds pretty incredible, but then again, I'm a pretty incredible guy. If anyone could somehow develop such an ability, it would be me. Or a version of me, anyway.

"So, there's a good chance the whole planet actually looks like this," I think out loud. The dark words of Mark V's note ring in my mind, and I feel chilled to the core. 'I am to blame for what happened.' He caused all this?

"Like this, or otherwise just as dead," Mark IV says gloomily. "Mind you, there's no reason this has to be Earth."

"If it's not Earth, then we've done time travel, space travel and parallel universe travel all in one to get here. Doesn't sound plausible to me," I state. "And considering the stuff we found down there, I'd put my money on this being good old Terra."

"Have any of you considered that no matter what planet this is, it could be full of radiation or other environmental hazards we can't see or feel?" Mark I points out.

"Yes, we did consider it when we found our way here, and it's perfectly possible, but the door was already open. We decided that the most important thing was to find out where we are, because it might help us figure out how to get away from here," Mark II answers.

"Except that it doesn't," I remark. "All we know is that we're in the middle of a featureless white desert in a world that's empty of anything electronic, according to Mark IV. I bet the stuff me and Mark I found is more useful."

"You mentioned something about a Mark V?" Mark II reminds me.

I nod, but I need to check one thing first. "Do either of you lead a company called 'Stark Corporation'?"

"I've got Stark Solutions, and then there's Stark-Fujikawa, it's pretty complicated, but no, I don't think I've even heard of anything called Stark Corporation," Mark II says.

"Actually, I'm Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.", Mark IV declares.

Again, there's one of those stunned silences where we Marks I-III just stare at Mark IV, and then, after a few beats, speak up all at the same time.

"You're kidding, right?" Mark I asks.

"Have they gone crazy?" Mark II asks.

"What, you're the local Nick Fury?" I ask.

This time, Mark IV doesn't seem to relish our amazement. "I'm definitely not Nick Fury, and I'm not sure I'm doing a very good job... Hm," he gazes at the three of us thoughtfully, "I guess a lot of the bad stuff that has taken place in my universe hasn't happened in yours."

I can't help but wonder what year Mark IV is from - maybe he's from some dark distant future, that would explain his advanced abilities too. I 'll ask him about it later, now I want my initial question answered. "We can compare notes later. No Stark Corporation in your universe either?"

Mark IV shakes his head. "Not that I know of."

"Well, then, unless one of us is lying, there's one more of me... us, I mean, who's a major player in this drama of ours. Hence, Mark V."

"He left us a note," Mark I adds, and hands the piece of paper to II and IV. They read it through, and I can see their expressions change as they take it in.

"Could it mean that this..." Mark II motions at the white wasteland around us, clearly shocked. "This is Mark V's fault?"

"Well, he seems certain he's done something horrible," Mark I says.

"The note was under his laptop, which supposedly has some data that could explain some of this. I'm going back inside to try to figure it out," I nod towards the doorway.

Mark IV has been gazing at the horizon silently for a while, as if searching for something. He sighs. "I guess there's no point in trying to find Mark V. We don't know how long ago he left and which direction he picked, and we'd just get lost out there."

"He's the most likely villain of the story anyway," Mark II says. "We might not want to meet him."

Mark IV shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe he never meant for anything bad to happen. We're not perfect, after all. We make mistakes. Sometimes the consequences can be devastating."

That, and the grim situation we are in, leave us all silent again. We walk back into the tunnel in single file, in numerical order - Mark I first, with his chest beam spotlight, then Mark II, me, and Mark IV, who hasn't lit his super-LED, so we're in the dark. I don't complain about it. It kind of fits the occasion.


	5. When?

Author's Note: Thanks to all who've written reviews so far, every one of you: automateddetour, GrimlyMystical, La Phoenix, asolyom, the 85th writer, Berg-ulme and LadyKayoss. Nice to know that at least someone's reading this, as strange a story as it is. This chapter is without doubt the most angsty one so far...

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

We sit close to each other on the floor, everyone trying to get a good view of the screen of the laptop in front of us. I connect it to my arc reactor and wake it up. The batteries seem to be recharging normally, so my jury-rigged power adapter actually works. The operating system is completely unfamiliar, maybe a Linux variant. As soon as it's started up, a video file opens itself in full screen mode and begins to play.

"I didn't do that!" I exclaim, pulling my hands away from the computer.

"It was set to play automatically," Mark IV states.

"Turn up the volume," Mark II says, and right away, I see the volume bar on the screen showing that someone's doing what he's asked.

"I didn't do that either," I add, my hands still far from the keyboard.

"I did," Mark IV says, though he hasn't touched the computer. "Now shush."

I shut my mouth and concentrate on the video. On the screen, looking back at me, is my own face. One more of them, anyway. He hasn't said anything so far, he's just staring, blinking, a hand held over his mouth, his expression panicky. With the volume turned to the max, we can actually hear his rapid breathing.

By the looks of it, there's a concrete wall behind his back, just like the ones in this room, and he's sitting down with the laptop on the floor in front of him or on his lap. He's got my eyes, not the blue ones of Marks I, II and IV. His goatee is like Mark IV's. Compared to the four of us, he seems gaunt, much less muscular. He looks a bit older than any of us as well, but it might be just because of all the lines on his hollow-cheeked face.

"I'm Anthony Stark," he finally speaks up in a husky voice. "It's the 14th of August, 2012, and I'm at the Stark Corporation quantum technology research complex in the Mojave Desert, or what little remains of it after..." his voice fades, and his face contorts with emotion. He swallows a few times like trying to fight back tears.

"Approximately two hours ago, I launched a device, which..." he stops and covers his face with his hands. "Oh God, I can't do this," he mumbles to his palms. When he reveals his face again, there are tears running down his cheeks.

"I've... It's my fault that..." he tries again, all semblance of self-control completely gone. Tony Stark, Mark V, looks like he's ready for the loony bin, his eyes darting to and fro, his face twitching. "It's not the end of the world, he said... Great joke. I knew it was dangerous, but I thought the shielding would contain the effects. I just wanted to fix things! I didn't care if I'd die. It wasn't supposed to..." He sobs. "The shielding kept me safe, but everything and everyone else..." He shakes his head. "I should be dead. Soon, I will be. Read the data, you'll understand," he says in a slightly more composed voice. "Don't pity me. Don't forgive me. I don't deserve it." The screen goes black - the file has reached its end.

No wonder Mark V seems a few fries short of a happy meal. He's actually incredibly sane considering that he's personally caused the end of the world as we know it.

While everyone else is still too shocked to speak, Mark IV says, "This explains some more." An email program opens on the screen, displaying the last received message.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

**From:** Reed Richards

**Subject: **! Please read

**Date:** August 13, 2012, 8:23:05 PM

**To:** Tony Stark

Tony,

I know everything's looking really bad right now, but it's not the end of the world. Please don't do this. Just leave the project, return to us, take up being Iron Man again and help us save what we can. Temporal/parallel universe travel is what started everything in the first place, continuing it will only make things worse. You know how bad it could get if something goes wrong.

You can't fix everything. Please listen to reason and let it be.

-Reed

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Mark V answered it with this," Mark IV adds, and the latest message from the sent-folder shows up.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

**From: **Tony Stark

**Subject:** RE: Please read

**Date:** August 13, 2012, 8:40:17 PM

**To:** Reed Richards

I'm doing what I think is right.

Leave me alone.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

"I don't believe it. It can't be true!" Mark I cries out.

"They were experimenting with travel across time and parallel universes, and they messed things up. Mark V was trying to fix their mistakes, but it went wrong - badly enough to wipe out all life on Earth," Mark IV gives us a recap. "There's plenty of proof on the computer," he adds, and another file opens on the screen.

It's a satellite image of Earth, covering both the Americas. I spot California in the upper left side of the view. There's no explosion, no great visible change, but slowly a white area starts to expand outwards from Mojave, on an on, creating an inevitably widening circle of white. It affects both land and sea. Though my first impression is of slowness, I soon realize that it's actually moving very fast. Looking at the clock in one corner of the screen, I see that it takes less than a minute for it to cover all of the USA. Not long after, the image goes blank. The wave has spread upwards as well, and it has hit the satellite.

"2012," I repeat softly. "That's only four years into the future for me."

"Me too," Mark IV says.

"You're from 2008?" I can hardly believe my ears.

"From a 2008 that's very different from yours, I guess."

"Mark I's from 1969," I tell everyone. "Mark II, what's the year where you come from?"

"2001," he replies, subdued. "So, some years into our futures, a Tony Stark launches a parallel universe/time travel device that somehow malfunctions so that it completely breaks down the molecular structure of everything on the planet and turns it into white dust. As a side effect, it pulls us here."

"Maybe it's the other way around," Mark I suggests. "This... This obliteration obviously wasn't supposed to happen. Maybe he wanted us here, maybe that was his plan all along, and trying to force the five of us in the same universe, the same place and the same time, is what made things go wrong."

"The devices we were working on..." I think out loud, catching Mark I's idea. "If they could somehow lead into us developing similar technology - he might've wanted to stop that from ever happening in our universes."

"If that's true, why did Mark V leave this place before we woke up here?" Mark II wonders.

"Maybe it took far longer than he anticipated for us to emerge," Mark I says. "He could've thought that his device didn't work at all in the way he'd expected. I think this is the best explanation for why we're here that we've come up with so far."

"Take a look at this," Mark IV interrupts, as if he hasn't been listening to the conversation at all, and points at the screen, where more files show up. By this time it's obvious that he's using his Extremis abilities to control the computer remotely, which is amazing, but I'm definitely not going to tell him how impressed I am. He's smug enough without me boosting his ego.

There are now two windows on the screen, splitting it in half. The left one clearly shows the schematics for an arc reactor, not a miniature one like mine, but a full-sized version, like the one that I had Pepper overload when I fought Stane. On the right, there's a file describing Extremis.

"He had Extremis abilities, and used an arc reactor as the power source of this complex - I don't think there's anything left of it now, since it wasn't inside this shielded bunker," Mark IV summarizes.

"So, Mark V was similar to you and me both, yet different," I note. "At least it doesn't look like he's the exact future version of either of us."

"I'm afraid this might nevertheless be a possible future for both of us," Mark IV says.

"Hey, advanced models," Mark II waves a hand at me and Mark IV before we continue our musings any further. "It doesn't really matter whose future self Mark V is or isn't. Now that we've got all this figured out, we should concentrate on the most important question."

We all know what he's referring to, and we say it aloud, all four of me at the same time: "How can we get back home?"


	6. How?

Author's Note: the 85th writer, thanks for the review, once again, but I'm afraid this isn't actually going to go very far from here anymore, since this is the second-last chapter. I hope it's not too disappointing :( I guess the story and the premise would have potential for much more than what I'm doing here, but I never planned for this to be a very long one, it's already quite a bit longer than I expected it to be.

In case anyone's interested, out of the four Tonys, Mark I is from the early days of the Iron Man comics (volume 1), Mark II is from volume 3 of the comics, which appeared from 1998 to 2004, and Mark IV from the latest Iron Man comics (volume 4). Mark V isn't anyone in particular, just one of the infinite number of alternate Tony Starks out there in the countless parallel universes.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

The idea of what has happened here, the fact that Tony Stark has caused this unimaginably horrible disaster, and possibly just to get us here, is really too much to take in. I think I might go nuts too if I concentrated on it too hard. I deal with it in the easiest, simplest way there is - denial. I close it out of my mind and ignore it. Don't think about the big picture, because that picture is so damn ugly and scary that it would drive you crazy. The others seem to be reacting in the same way, so we stick to the immediate concern: how to get home.

"There's a simple answer to that question, though it's easier said than done," Mark I says. We all nod.

"We have all the data we need right here..." Mark IV gestures at the computer, and the screen begins to fill with specs and schematics of the massive device in the middle of the room where we woke up.

"...and between the four of us, we have plenty of engineering skills..." I go on.

"...so, it shouldn't be impossible to figure out how to turn on the device," Mark II finishes. This Huey-Dewey-and-Louie-style "let's complete each others' sentences" talk is sort of getting on my nerves, but I can't help it. It's freakish how naturally it comes, since our thought processes are so similar, if not identical.

"The real challenge is going to be how to program it to reverse what happened last time. Of course, it can't undo what happened out there," Mark IV waves a hand in a wide curve, indicating the rest of the world. "But repeating the process with reverse parameters just might throw us back to where we came from. I'll look into it, I've got the best computer skills."

"Sure you do, show-off," Mark I mutters.

"It's not the only thing we have to do," I note, pointing a finger at the data on the screen. "We need a massive amount of energy to run the device, and there's none of it here. I'll try to come up with something. Of course, there's always my arc reactor, but I'd rather pick some other option if there are any available."

"Your reactor actually generates that much?" Mark II asks skeptically.

"Yeah, but it'll only work for a short time," I reply.

Mark II whistles appreciatively, and even Mark IV looks impressed. Hah, I think to myself triumphantly, there's something even you can't do, Mr. Extremis!

"And don't worry, early versions, there's plenty of work for you as well," Mark IV tells I and II. "Since things went wrong when Mark V last activated the device, it's taken quite a bit of damage. Unless we can repair it, this whole plan is moot."

"We can only hope we've got all the tools, parts and pieces we'll need in here," Mark I says, with a nod towards the "Stark Corporation" crates.

"All right, quadruplets! Let's get to work," Mark II declares, and heads towards the central device to inspect the damage.

None of the work we need to do is simple. The technology is party alien to all of us, even to Mark IV, and we have to combine all our considerable knowledge and incredible intellect to figure it out. My job is actually easier than the others', since I can start from scratch, instead of having to deal with Mark V's advanced tech. I begin by carefully going through the stuff in the crates, hoping to come up with the means and materials to build yet another arc reactor. Unfortunately, it doesn't look promising.

I'm also seriously slowed down in my task, because everyone else seems to need me - or rather, my chestpiece. Mark II needs power for the tools he uses in the repairs, soldering irons, power drills and the like. At least Mark I can power his own tools using his chestplate - of course, that wouldn't be possible if I hadn't charged it up earlier. I also need to recharge the laptop for Mark IV when the battery runs out again. Not long after that, Mark II goes "Oh, damn, not now," and grabs at his chest.

"Gimme a break! What am I, the Energizer Bunny?" I grumble, spreading my hands, but it's not like I've got any choice. So, I put my own work aside again to recharge Mark II's artificial heart.

Finally, I'm actually allowed a moment of peace and quiet long enough that I can reach the conclusion I've been fearing: building a new arc reactor with the stuff we've got here would take a lot of time and effort, and even then it would be a crude, second-rate version, far less powerful than the one I've got in me. No matter how I try, I can't think of any other power source I could build that'd give us nearly enough energy. Looks like I'll just have to be the battery for the main event, as well. It's probably not going to be good for my health, but it's a chance I'll have to take. Either I risk frying my arc reactor, or then we all die of thirst and hunger. I locate the power input for the time/parallel universe device, and start figuring out how to best connect my chestpiece to it.

As I'm working on a cable I've found, tinkering with its end to make it fit, my thoughts wander to other matters entirely. I'm already feeling hungry and thirsty, and I know I'd be very tired if not for all the nervous energy caused by the situation. We've been at this for hours, and before I got here, I had spent all day long working on my new repulsor design. The last time I ate was breakfast with Pepper, so long ago that it feels like it was in some other lifetime.

Pepper. The mental image of her laughing at some wisecrack of mine, her smiling face, her fiery hair, her cheerful blue eyes... I'm assailed by a feeling of longing that's almost like physical pain.

I realize that for a few minutes, I've been doing nothing but squeezing the cable very tightly.

I need to get my mind off her, so I speak up, "Hey guys, any of you seeing anyone regularly?"

"I couldn't!" Mark I exclaims from the platform, where he's working. "I mean, I have been seeing quite a lot of Janice Cord lately, and she is wonderful, but I know I shouldn't get too involved. It wouldn't be fair to her, not with my bum heart. She deserves someone with whom she can live a long and happy life, and I cannot be that man."

"Oh, come on, don't make yourself a martyr. If you really love this Janice, that's a stupid attitude to take," Mark II comments from his side of the platform. "You should make the best of the time you've got. If she loves you, she'll rather take a short time of happiness with you than none at all. Although it's not like I don't understand you. I haven't even told Rumiko about my artificial heart. I'm afraid she'd think I'm a freak. Our relationship is difficult enough as it is."

"Rumiko? You're dating a japanese girl?" I ask, curious. Looks like neither of these two Tonys is seeing anyone I've ever heard of.

"I wouldn't say 'dating', it's hardly as serious as that, though it's intense, and I do love her. She's amazing - she keeps up this silly jet-set teenage chick act, but the truth is, she's very intelligent and responsible. And she's not just any japanese girl, she's Rumiko Fujikawa, the daughter of the people who took over my old company - that's why it's called Stark-Fujikawa now."

"So, how about you, Mark IV?" I move on. "Does the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. get as many girls as a handsome, ridiculously rich playboy industrialist?"

"Hey, I'm still all of those things," Mark IV protests, looking up from the laptop for the first time in over an hour. "I can get all the girls I want. Of course, I have to pick difficult ones, like Maya Hansen. She's brilliant, she's the one who designed Extremis. She also gave it to terrorists just to be able to continue her research when they lost their funding," he shakes his head. "I kind of understand her reasoning on that one, and I guess I've already forgiven her. She's really something. But you never said anything about yourself, Mark III. Who's your girl?"

So much for getting rid of distracting thoughts. There's Pepper's face again in my mind's eye, though the memory of it is far less clear than I'd like it to be. I want to be able to remember every detail, every single freckle, and I can't. I'm sure that the longer we stay here, the vaguer the image will get.

"Well, I wouldn't say I've got a girl," I finally answer. "There's Pepper. I really like her, and I think we're on to something, but I'm sort of still working on it."

To my astonishment, I'm met with the same stupefied silence that Mark IV has caused several times. The three other Tony Starks spend a good while just staring at me, dumbstruck, their work forgotten for the moment, until they finally speak up, their words overlapping.

"Oh, Pepper! I do have feelings for her as well, but she's married to Happy Hogan, and that's best for her," says Mark I.

"Happy and Pepper even got divorced, and then got together again," Mark II adds. "As much as I like her, I think they're really meant for each other."

"She's lovely, isn't she? But Happy's dead," Mark IV says darkly. "I'm afraid Pepper isn't too fond of me anymore."

"Happy Hogan? Happy, my chauffeur-bodyguard? Wow. That's unexpected," I mutter in disbelief.

Great. Now I'm worried and jealous in addition to the previous longing. Damn, I really, really need to get back home.

I pick up my work and continue it with renewed zeal.


	7. If

I'm the first one to finish my task, so I join Marks I and II in fixing the damage the time/parallel universe device has taken. By the time we're done, I can see the exhaustion on both other versions of my face, and I know I look just as tired. If there's something we've missed, things could go catastrophically wrong, but we've just got to trust ourselves, which isn't all that hard, because we do know we're all damn good at this sort of stuff. Mark IV announces he's completed his part as well. He's figured out how to program the device, and also created a working connection between its controls and the laptop, so that he can use the computer to direct the process.

We waste no time but move on to get it over with. I connect my arc reactor to the parallel universe/time machine, using a cable long enough that I can stand on the platform while it's connected. Instantly, numerous little lights blink on here and there on the device's surface around us. I don't feel anything out of the usual, and of course I don't, because it's not taking much power yet. I don't really know what to expect once it truly begins. The energy drain is going to be huge, a dozen times more than my suit uses, far past anything I've ever put this arc reactor through.

Marks I and II hang around close by, looking nervous. I know how they're feeling: anxious and annoyed because all they can do is wait and watch. Mark IV stands up and moves closer to us, but his eyes stay tightly focused on the laptop. Its screen is now showing real-time readings about the device.

"Power levels look fine, but that doesn't mean anything, since the device is just on standby," Mark IV explains. His apparently calm tone would fool anyone else, but as it's really my voice, I can hear he's on edge, same as everyone else. "I've now finished programming the new parameters. Are you ready?"

"I doubt we'll ever truly be," Mark I shakes his head. "Just do it."

"Yeah, go on," Mark II agrees.

"I'm starting to get bored here," I complain. "Let's get this show on the road."

"All right. Buckle your seatbelt, Dorothy, 'cause Kansas is going bye-bye," Mark IV quotes. We can't see him hit a button or anything, because he does it all mentally, but we can hear a low, slowly intensifying hum, as all the massive machinery around us comes to life.

As the device draws more and more power, I'm actually starting to notice the drain. My arc reactor is heating up, which is something I've never felt. It's really disturbing, since it's not supposed to do that. I'm already getting nasty mental images of it overloading and exploding like its larger counterpart, splattering me across the walls of the room in a red mess of blood and spare body parts. At least it would give some color to all that gray concrete.

"Yes, yes, it's working, looking good so far..." Mark IV mutters, his words only just audible in the growing noise.

My chestpiece keeps growing warmer, and all of a sudden, though not unexpectedly, there's a pain in my chest that sends me gasping on my knees. Marks I and II both offer helping hands, asking if I'm all right - what a stupid question - but I can barely speak, and it really doesn't matter, because there's nothing to be done if I'm not, so I just grimace at them, assuming they'll understand.

"Ah, hell! Goddamn it," Mark IV suddenly curses. "It's not enough after all, it's not going to work!" he yells loudly enough for all of us to hear. "We need more power!"

"I'm - not - holding - anything - back," I pant through gritted teeth.

"I have some!" Mark I shouts, and damned if I can explain how he does it, but somehow he manages to connect a wire from his chestplate to the configuration of cable and arc reactor, adding a small amount of energy to the whole. It can't be much, but looks like it's all it takes.

"Yeah! That does it! Great job, Mark I!" Mark IV exclaims. "Two minutes to transition."

Two minutes... I don't know if I can take this even that long. I feel like someone's inserted a glob of molten lava into my chest to replace the arc reactor. By the looks of it, Mark I feels about as bad as I do. He falls on his knees in front of me, grabbing both my shoulders for support. I imitate the gesture, reaching for his, so that we're sort of leaning on each other.

Mark II kneels by our side and puts a steady hand on one shoulder of each of us. "Come on, you can do it, just a little longer!" he encourages us.

"Well. It was nice - getting - to know you," Mark I gasps, as a goodbye. "Like - brothers - we never had."

"Getting - melodramatic - again?" I pant at him. "But yeah - was - nice."

Mark IV appears by our side too, opposite Mark II, and places hands on our shoulders, so we form a tight square, four Tony Starks on their knees in the middle of the platform, hands on each others' shoulders. This would definitely feel extremely stupid in some other circumstances, but here and now, I think it's OK. Without the support from the other versions of me, I'd already be lying on the floor.

"Thirty seconds to transition," Mark IV informs us. "You did good, all of you."

"We all did," Mark II corrects.

"And now we're going home," Mark IV adds. "Transition in five, four, three, two, one -"

There's a blinding white light, just like the last time - but this time, I'm looking at it through a red haze that's pulsing in time with the heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

Darkness.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

I wake up to the sound of Pepper shouting, "Mr. Stark! You have half an hour before the board of directors meeting starts, you need to get up and shower and change or you'll be late again!"

I sit up and look around. I'm on the floor of my shop, back home, right where I left, as if nothing has happened. The transphase-quantum repulsor gauntlet lies next to me, smashed from falling to the floor. That's fine by me, because it's one project I'm going to trash right away.

I can barely believe it. It was all just a dream, after all? I'm panting as if I've been running, my heart is pounding madly beneath the arc reactor, which still feels burning - but it can't possibly be. It was just a dream. The weirdest one I've ever had, extremely real and vivid, but nothing more than that, right? And no matter what physical reactions a dream might cause in my body, it can't affect the chestpiece.

I grab Pepper's hand and place it over the arc reactor. "Does that feel hot to you?" I ask, without thinking at all, a completely innocent question.

Of course, she misinterprets it. She blushes, her face turning a shade of red brighter than her hair. "Mr. Stark!" she exclaims, and tries to pull her hand away. I cover it with mine to keep it right there.

"It was a serious question, Miss Potts," I emphasize, locking my gaze with hers. The cerulean color of her eyes is a striking contrast to the reddish hues of the rest of her face, the slowly fading flush on her freckled cheeks. "Do you think the chestpiece feels warmer than usual?" I intone carefully, slowly, to get my point across without more misunderstandings.

She sort-of misinterprets again. It's no wonder, considering my serious tone and the way my heart is still bouncing like it's trying to push the arc reactor right out of my chest, which she surely must feel. "Oh," she utters, with a worried frown. "I think it does, a little - Tony, are you all right?"

I guess I can't really trust her judgment on this. Of course she thinks the chestpiece feels warm, because I specifically asked about it. She hasn't held her hand over it all that often, so she hasn't got much to compare this to. Of course it was a dream. There can be no other explanation. End of discussion. Forget all about it.

I take a deep breath, trying to pull myself together. "I'm fine, Pepper. Just a bad dream," I reassure her, and let go of her hand.

She knows I've had more than enough nightmares since Afghanistan. She nods, and does not force the subject, because she also knows I don't want to talk about them. Her hand lingers on my chest a moment longer, and then travels sideways to reach my hand. She makes to stand up, and pulls me by the hand to get up as well.

"You have an important meeting in twenty-five minutes. Are you up to it?" she inquires. Looks like she's still slightly concerned, because she's asking, instead of urging me to hurry up and keep going and get ready or we'll be late.

"Of course I am," I answer, taking a few slightly shaky steps towards the door, but then I stop as a thought crosses my mind, and I've just got to ask her, "Now, Pepper, tell me, you wouldn't marry Happy Hogan, would you?"

THE END

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Author's Note: Thanks to all those who took the risk and read this even though it's such a strange story :) Even bigger thanks to all those who wrote reviews - and please write some more, I'd like to hear what you think of the whole story now that it's all finished. As for the big question in the summary, "is it just a dream", well, Tony Stark Mark III sure thinks so, but as the author, I've got an opinion of my own too, and mine is that no, it isn't. You can decide for yourself whose opinion counts...


End file.
